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Blades Like Lightning
Blades Like Lightning is an adventure novel written by Meilir Brevil about the adventures of him and Taeris Redcrash. The second work to feature the duo, Meilir and Taeris head north into Skyrim on Taeris' continuing search for purpose and Meilir's search for wealth&women. When Whiterun farmers plead Taeris to rid them of a powerful Wispmother's evil influence, he'll join with the Companions to defeat the beast and free the Hold of it's evil. The novel was incredibly popular, riding off of the first's success, but was noted for being less grounded than ''The Man With Two Swords''. The book's depiction of Nords was highly criticized, as he showed them to be a ridiculous, out of touch people, and frequently utilized the mainly Nordic characters in the book as a source of slapstick and lowbrow comedy. Meilir would defend this depiction as accurate. It was this novel that would start their feud with the Jarl of Falkreath. He so was offended by the book that, when they visited Falkreath on their journey out of the province, the Jarl arrested them and tried to have them executed, although they later escaped. Excerpt Taeris slept for seven days and seven nights. His slumber was so long that I grew worried he might not wake up. I know, gentle reader, “oh ye of little faith” but he was as still a stone, and his breathing weak. The Wispmother of Bleakwind Basin had done a number on him and I feared deeply for my friend. But my fear proved for naught, as Taeris arose that eighth morning, refreshed and hardy as a troll, although very confused. “Where are we, Meilir?” He asked me, coming to sit at the great table that dominated the hall we were in. “Taeris, friend, your misfortune proved our fortune. We sit in Jorrvaskr—the Great Hall of the Companions!” Taeris obviously had not been expecting that, which was my intention of course. I seized any opportunity I could to surprise the Redcrash. “When they learned you set out to test your ‘mettle’—a word of their’s—against the Wispmother, they were eager to see how your fared, for they believed no provincial could stand against such a creature. It was they who helped me return you here.” “It seems they were right.” Taeris pointed out, much to my chagrin. As you’ve no doubt noticed by now, loyal reader, Taeris was prone to bouts of melancholy and insecurity. One had to be careful in the words used to lift his spirits. “Not yet, they aren’t. No one says you cannot set out to slay that Wispmother a second time.” “What would be the point, Meilir?” Taeris asked. “You saw what occurred. My blades passed through the thing like it was nothing.” “You forget! We are at Jorrvaskr, above which sits the legendary Skyforge. Perhaps Dunmeri ebony does not fell the Wispmother, but the gods my strike me down where I stand if Skyforged steel doesn’t do the trick!” “Don’t say such things, Meilir.” Taeris said, rising. “We have no idea if it’ll work.” “It’ll work. My conviction is absolute.” And so we climbed from Great Hall of Jorrvaskr to the cliffside where the Skyforge stood, in all its glory. An older man, with thick arms and chiseled muscles popping out of his bare back and torso stood over the forge, tempering steel in the Skyforge’s volcanic fires. “Smith Grey-Mane!” I called to the man. As you might now, attentive reader, the Grey-Mane family as worked the Skyforge for generations. “I come to you for the blade you promised me.” The old man turned to me, revealing his singed beard and burned face. “Thou hath cometh for thy sweord?” “Indeed, smither of black.” I decried, setting forth towards him. The heat of the Skyforge radiated towards me, but I weathered it, hoping to impress the smith. Skyforge steel was pricey, even for my deep pockets, and I needed some way to acquire it cheaply. My only option was to appeal to the man’s sense of Nordic honor. As you know, knowledgeable reader, Nords of Skyrim value honor and valor above all else. It is indeed my luck that Taeris values both those qualities in equal measure. “If ye seeketh the Skyforged blade, thou must proveth thy worth.” Grey-Mane said, returning to the forge. Lifting a pair of tongs, he dipped them into the flames, and drew forth a sword of immense size. The weapon was taller than I was, nearly as tall as Taeris, and it was a sight to behold in it’s majesty. “A masterpiece.” I breathed. “Tis that, indeed.” Grey-Mane agreed. “A sweord above all sweords before it. Tis the greatest weapon I hath ever created. Fit only for a blademaster, truly, for none but a blademaster could wield such a beast.” He set the sword into a troth of water, which steamed and bubbled as it cooled the steel. “You are thee blademaster he spake of?” Grey-Mane asked Taeris, with a nod in my direction. “I am.” Taeris replied, stepping forwards. “If you say it true, then stretch forth thy hand, and claim the zweihander--both thy hands, for none can lift such a sweord with the strength of one arm.” But Taeris did not hear him. Gone was the world to his blademaster’s eyes and his blademaster’s ears. Only now in world was him and the sword set before him. Taeris thrust one hand into the water, grasping the sword around it’s hilt. And then pulled it free. The sword rose to the sky, water spraying from the freshly forged blade, and Taeris thrust the sword towards the sky, steam still rising from the blade. Grey-Mane gasped, taking a step back in his surprise. “Thou speak true, he is blademaster.” The old blackmsith gushed with awe. There was noise below us, and Taeris and I looked down to Jorrvaskr, where the Companions had assembled to watch our display. “Taeris Redcrash!” Their leader called, a Nordic warrior of incredible height and size, with a face drowning in red hair. “If it is ye who holds that sweord crafted in the Skyforge’s heart, then it is ye who must lead us into glorious battle against the Wispmother and her horrid kin, for none but one of your talent is fit to be our champion!” Taeris and I shared a mutual glance, before the blademaster thrust the zweihander to the sky once more—impossibly holding the two-handed blade with one hand—inspiring fierce cheers and battle cries below us. Category:Morgannic Canon Category:Books Category:Works by Meilir Brevil